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SELECTION 



POSTHUMOUS POEMS. 




OSEPH PEAKE. 



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ALLBUT AND DANIEL. 

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THIS SELECTION 



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POSTHUMOUS POEMS 



IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



TO THE 



MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR, 



BY HIS SON. 




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Tins volume contains a selection from various 
posthumous poems, written during intervals of 
leisure, by Joseph Peake, who resided in a 
secluded village in North Staffordshire, 

Possessing natural poetic genius, a highly 
retentive memory, and a keen relish for the 
beautiful, both in Nature and Art, he was wont 
to record and perpetuate in verse, those ideas and 
images which so constantly impressed themselves 
on his susceptible mind. Nature was his pre- 
ceptress : at all seasons she possessed for him 
peculiar charms, and he revelled in the enjoyment 
of her beauties. 

The elevation of the operative classes, and 
the advanceraenl of civil and religious' liberty were 






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objects dear to his heart, and his pen was 
often employed, with powerful effect, in their 
furtherance. 

He contributed to some of the leading 
periodicals of the day ; and in addition to 
numerous poems, left behind him many manu- 
scripts, consisting chiefly of tales and essays. 

At the time of his decease in 1837, he had 
three sons engaged in commerce in South America. 
Two of them have been removed by death. His 
remaining son publishes this volume, as a token of 
filial respect, and for private circulation among his 
father's friends ; some of whom are still living 
and cherish his memory. 



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To POEST 

Spirit of Nature . 

Sweet Woman's Loye 

The Glow-Worm . 

Address to the Stars 

Lines to the early Primrose 

Ode to the Moon . 

Hearts of the Braye 

Ode to the Nightingale . 

On the Birth of an Infant 

On Music . 

On seeing a Primrose bloom on 

January . 
To my Muse 

To the charms of Adello 
On Parting with Lyra . 
To a Weeping Beauty . 
To the Butterfly . 
The Days of Youth, are the Days of Loye . 
The Countess G-uiccioli visiting the Tomb of Lord 

Byron, at Newstead Abbey 
The Tear 



the first day of 



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On the pleasures or Dreaming . 

The Lover's adieu . 

Ode to Liberty . . 

The Last oe the Druids . 

The Island op Beauty 

"Woman in the Prime oe Life 

Lines to Love and Beauty . 

The Eecluse . 

The Captive Skylark 

An Epicedium, composed in a Village Churchyard 

Hulton Abbey 

To the "Wood-lark . 

Lines to Sensibility . 

Ode to Love and Beauty . 

The last Eose oe Summer . 

Heaven, or the Land oe Souls . 

The Decline oe Liee 

To Sleep .... 

Pleasures oe Evening Solitude . 

The Moonlight Parting . 

To the Great and Eternal source oe Light 

Early rising in Spring . 

Eossil Worlds . . 

Ode to "Woman 



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ADDRESS TO THE STARS. 

O ye bright Stars ! whose pure and glowing fires 
And endless blaze of light my sonl inspires, 
Say, are ye centres to revolving spheres, 
Whose circling mazes dance through endless years ? 



Are ye the seats of Beings — happy- — wise — 
God-like in form — whose spirits ardent rise 
To adoration of the Great First Cause 
Of Being — Nature — and of Nature's laws ? 
Immortals are they, though of mortal birth — 
Sage, wise and virtuous, late removed from earth. 
Or from some other world in space remote, 
Where ponderous Universes ceaseless float 
Round their respective centres ? Are they there 
Free from affliction, labour, want and care ? 



Are there returning Seasons there? Does Spring 
Renew the face of Nature ? Does she bring 



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ADDRESS TO THE STARS. 



Her wreaths of choicest flowers, — the sweet primrose 
The pink, carnation, hyacinth and rose, 
Whose fragrance scents the morning air ahoye, 
While warbling songsters mingle notes of love ? 



Do rays of glorious Light, and summer heat, 
Display a wondrous world of colours, sweet 
As heaven can furnish from her choicest stores, 
While man admires, and rapturously adores ? 

Does Summer bring her choicest, rarest fruit, 

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And fragrant herbs in rich luxuriance shoot ? 

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Is Woman there all beauteous, young and gay, 
Rich in her beauty, bright in her array, 
Gentle in spirit, charming in her air, 
Her eye all softness, and her form all fair ? 
With voice all music, and with heart all love, 
A creature spotless as the heaven above ? 




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ADDRESS TO THK STAR: 



Is Man there ardent, noble, wise and free, 

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r\ Guileless in motive, pure in every thought, 

Intuitive in knowledge, deeply taught 
In those deep mysteries of Nature's realm, 
Which human mind and human thought overwhelm 



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ye bright Stars ! in yon celestial Dome, 
Say, shall a feeble mortal ever roam v ] j/ 

U O'er the bright summits of your distant clime, 

A Unhampered by the flesh, unchained by Time ? 

J When his frail tenement of earth shall fail, ; L 

r\ Shall he mount upward on some heavmly gale, 

U Nor spirit-bound, nor clogged by mortal clay, L 

Shall he on seraph wings of endless day, 
Plunge through the trackless ether far away,- 
A spirit in those distant worlds of light? ^ 

There Angels ceaseless sing — nor day nor night y 

Succeeds ; but one eternal changeless blaze p 

Of light and ecstacy — of joy and praise ! L 



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LINES TO THE EARLY PRIMROSE. k 



Pale primrose ! emblem of the opening year, 

Whose modest look proclaims approaching spring ; 

Thy yellow hues 'mid velvet leaves appear, 
Thy fragrance floating on the Zephyr's wing. 

How welcome to the eye, the opening flower, — 
How welcome to the ear, the song of birds, — 

How welcome is the soft refreshing shower, 
The hum of bees, and voice of lowing herds. 



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Sweet primrose ! modest flower, in which we trace 

The early earnest of heaven's bounteous store ; p 

Soon shall the cowslip with its sister grace, n 

Peep through the grass and deck the meadows o'er. fj 

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In hope expectant, on untiring wing, •• 

I 've sped o'er winter's dark and cheerless waste, jS 

With longing eye to hail returning spring, :• 

And once again its sweets luxurious taste. g 

Hail ! my sweet primrose, like the Virgin, pure, ffl 

With all the blooming charms of youthful loves, £ 

Thy coy and modest blush my heart allures, U 

And the still depths of my affection moves. n 

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ODE TO THE MOON. 

Thou pensive moon ! Sweet Empress of the night, 
Whose charms reflected on the mirrored deep 

In quivering motions, fix our ravished sight, 
While o'er the vaulted arch thy glories sweep. 

Oft in the silent night I ? ve felt thy charms, 
And gazed upon the beauties of thy face, 

While dreaming mortals, cradled in sleep's arms, 
Knew not the grandeur of thy midnight race. 

Oft have I talked to thee, and told my woes, 
While silence deep, pervaded earthly things. 

The feeling, how sublime ! that overflows, 
When sable night around her shadow flings. 



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ODE TO THE MOON 



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Oft have I wandered on the lonely field, 

And viewed thee rising o'er the mountain wild, 

Bearing aloft in air thy burnished shield, 

With clouds in frowning splendour round thee piled, 



Oft have I viewed thee in the tranquil lake ; 

And* seen reflected on the ocean deep 
Thy lurid radiance, or thy quiv'ring shake,— 

Or silently upon the waters sleep. 



Oft from the bosom of the sombre wood, 

I 've watched thee sailing the expanse of heavi 

Or flitting sylph-like o'er the crystal- flood, 
As on its mirrored surface lightly driven. 



When Heaven's dark hand withdraws the globe of light, 
Revealing starry worlds to mortal view, — 

Thy face unveil' d, thou sable-mantled night, 

How grand the scene, what wonders ever new ! » 



What glorious worlds in the expanse of heaven, 
Mocking conception, overpower the soul ! 

What suns there shine ! What pond'rous orbs are drivei 
Bv that Omnipotence which framed the whole ' 



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HEARTS OF THE BRAVE. 

Hearts of tlie Brave ! at your Country's call, 
Proudly you'll stand, or fearlessly fall ! 
Courage shall lead you to deeds of renown, 
Glory will speed you, and victory crown ! 

Hearts of the Brave ! let the Patriot's fire, 
Consume in your bosoms all meaner desire ! 
Old England, the country that first gave you birth. 
Is dearer to you, than all others on earth ! 

Hearts of the Brave ! you will face the proud foe, 
Steel-gleaming bay 'nets will soon lay him low. 
Your country 's the treasure ! her freedom to save 
Is a mission illustrious, Hearts of the Brave ! 

Hearts of the Brave ! generations unborn, 
Taught by your courage, shall slavery scorn ; 
And when you are sleeping within the cold grave, 
Blessings shall follow you, Hearts of the Brave ! 



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ODE TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 

In still retreat, and shady grove 

Thy voice is heard thou little singer ; 

Where love the evening hour beguiles, 
And silence and the glow-worm linger. 

Thou pourest forth thine artless song 
From the deep foliage of the dingle, 

Where wild flowers grow, and ivy creeps, 
And woodbine blossoms with them mingle. 

Thy wild notes steal among the leaves, 
And warble from the bending willow ; 

Thy little breast with music heaves, 
O'er glassy stream, or rippling billow : 

Or, plunging in the thicket's gloom, 
Deep in the glen, or thorny bramble, 

Wild roses shedding sweet perfume, 
Thy gentle carols softly ramble. 

O, how I envy thee thy life, — 
Thy quiet and secluded dwelling ; 

Away from this world's ceaseless strife 
Thy Maker's praises ever telling. 



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ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT 



ail ! Germ of Immortality, 
Just launched upon life's boisterous sea. 
Why weepest thou ? it sure were fitter 
To laugh, if life's cup were not bitter. 
Perhaps thou suspectest there is danger 
A welcome to thee ! little stranger. 



Even while bursting into life, 
Sorrow awaits thee here ; and rife 
With troubles, from thy natal day, 
Will follow close thy mortal way, 
Wherever thou may'st be a ranger, — 
Still welcome, welcome, little stranger. 



Now past the portal of existence 
Thou 'st entered, spite of all resistance : 



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ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT. 

Napoleon — Caesar — did the same. 
Say, art thou born to Warrior's name, 
Commanding* armies — braving danger ? 
Then mischief's brewing, little stranger. 



Say, what the destinies await 

Thy lot ? art thou designed by fate 

To be a quiet Friend — or Hero 

As Alexander was, or Nero ? 

Perhaps from bad to worse thou 'It be a changi 

Of this sad world— thou wicked little stranger. 



Or art thou cast in lighter mould, 

To train the young, instruct the old, — 

To point through Wisdom to the skies, 

And bid mankind to glory rise ? 

Then like to Him who lay within the manger — 

Thrice welcome ! to thee, blessed little stranger ! 



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ON MUSIC. 

Sweet Music rings throughout the earth, 

In song of birds, in hum of bees ; 
iEolian harp can give her birth, 

Or Zephyr whispering through the trees, 
Or echo pealing from her caves, 
Or murmuring sound of crystal waves. 

The assembly of the social quire 

Feels her delightful harmony : 
Each bosom warms with heavenly fire, 

While Psalm, or song, or merry glee, 
With instrument, or plaintive voice, 
Calls the sad spirit to rejoice. 

What is sweet Music, but the sound 

Of Spirit-voices here below, 
Pealing and swelling round and round, 

Now sweetly soft, now softly slow ; 
Glorious in thunder, hark ! her trumpets rise, 
With cannonading echoes to the skies ! 

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ON MUSIC. 



Elysian fields, charmed with her artless strains, 
Bound with sweet joy ; how awfully sublime 

When heav'nly symphonies peal through those plains 
Where glory dwells, and angels brightly shine ! 

Winged choristers their silver voices raise, 

And seraphs pour forth ceaseless notes of praise. 

And what the theme, but God's eternal love, 
Displayed throughout th' infinitude of space : 

Glory and power to countless hosts above, 
Mercy and goodness to the human race, 

In one deep pealing chorus sweetly driven 

Symphonious, through the spangled vaults of heaven. 

Music ! bewitching theme of angel voice, 

Music, — offspring of glorious Deity ! 
Music, — which makes both heaven and earth rejoice, 

Charming through time and vast eternity, — 
Deep, high and loud, in ever glorious strains, 
Angelic legions tune, where the Eternal reigns ! 




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ON SEEING A PRIMROSE BLOOM ON THE 
FIRST DAY OF JANUARY. 

How dar'st thou peep to life thou tender flower, 
Thus boldly facing fierce inclement skies ? 

Thy leaves are blighted in an early hour, 
And soon are faded all thy silken dyes. 

How prematurely blooms thy graceful form, 
Amid rude winds, and piercing wintry blasts : 

Thy beauteous texture pales before the storm, — 
How brief the period that thy glory lasts ! 

Thy modest leaves unfold their charming hue, 
Their fragrance wasting 'neath ungenial skies ! 

No kindly falling of the gentle dew, 

Sheds its pure pearly drops within thine eyes. 



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ON AN EARLY PRIMROSE, 

No smiling sun pours its enlivening beam, 
To warm thy native bed with fostering heat : 

No flowerets round thy form, luxuriant teem. 
Nor meek -eyed speed- wells cluster at thy feet. 

Like solitary stranger on the plain,— 

Or single star to bless the cheerless nights- 
Like mariner, alone upon the main, — 
Or gem beneath the waters' glassy light. 

So genius, premature with early bloom, 

Puts forth her blossoms 'neath inclement skies, 

Her transient beauties grace an early tomb, , 
And chilling blasts destroy her virgin dyes, 




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TO MY MUSE. p* 

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Can I forget the pleasures of my Lyre, •• 

Its music leave for empty earthly sound, jS"— 

And cease to feel its energy and power, 

Pervading all the universe around ? Sh 

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Can I forget the beauties of thy face, 3^-— 

That oft have charmed my soul to ecstacy ? 

The joy, the rapture, of thy loved embrace ? 

The languid love-glance of thy silent eye ? L # 

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Can I forget the music of thy voice, 

When through the woods I woo'd thy angel form, 

That music, which oft bid my heart rejoice, 
And taught my soul all other love to scorn ? 

Can I forget thy graceful snow-white hand, fa 

That plucked the flowers, and wove the garlands gay ; 

The festoon wreathed, with smile so sweet and bland, 
And added lustre to the charms of day ? 

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TO MY MUSE. 



Can I forget thy soft and plaintive voice, 
Stealing like sounds iEolian o'er my soul ? 

The streamlet flow of love, that left no choice, 
But still to rove beneath thy sweet control ? 

Can I forget thee through the lonely night, 

Nor fondly steal the pleasing hour with thee ; — 

Nor gaze upon the moon-beams' flitting light 
When gleaming splendour tips the highest tree ? 

Can I forget thee in the silent night, 

Nor scale with thee the deep blue arch above, 

Where heaven her wonders shews, and millions bright 
Of suns and worlds in nightly courses move ? 

Not so ! with thee I'll range the valley deep, 
Where torrents foam, and waters hollow roar ; 

Or pensive, wander where the wild flowers peep — 
Where'er thy charms are found — there I '11 adore ! 

Alone with thee I'll steal the happy hour, 

Naught upon earth beside, has charms for me : 

Musing on silver cloud, or heav'n-dyed flower, 
I '11 pass my tranquil clays alone with thee ! 

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TO THE CHARMS OF ADELLO 

Breathe softest breath ye morning airs, 
And gently fan Adello's charms ; 

The rose's blnsh her beauty bears, — 
The seraph's love her bosom warms ! 

The spicy gale of India's clime 
Has not a breath so balmy sweet, 

So charming, or so rich as thine, 

Where virtue, love, and beauty meet. 

The sportive touch of zephyr's wings, 
Which fans the blushes of the rose, 

Is not so soft as that which springs, 
And from thy heaving bosom flows. 

The essence of the woodbine flower, 
That sweetly scents the early morn , 

Loses for me its charming power, 
When from Adello I am borne;. 



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TO THE CHARMS OF ADELLO. 

And the fair lily, on its stem 
That waves its beauty in the air, 

Pearl' d with the dew-drop's lucid gem, 
Cannot with thy lov'd charms compare. 

The softest winds that steal along 
In dulcet notes, on evening's ear, 

Are dissonant as screech-owPs song, 
Compared with thine, Adello dear ! 

The flowing numbers of the bird 

That cheers the lonely hour of night, 

Cannot compare with those I 've heard 
Whispering from thy dear lips delight. 

When vernal beauty's richest vest, 

Has wrapt young Spring in rosy charms, 

Thy beauty adds e'en richer zest 
To flowers, encircled in thy arms. 

Breathe softest breath ye morning airs, 
And gently fan Adello's charms ; 

The rose's blush her beauty bears, — 
The seraph's love her bosom warms ! 



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ON PARTING WITH LYRA. 

Can I leave the Queen of Beauties,, 
Ne'er to see her face again ? 

On the wings of ceaseless duties, 
Can I e'er forget my pain ? 

Launched on Life's uncertain billow, 

Chance or fate may bear their sway- 
Plant their thorns beneath my pillow— 
Chase my youthful joys away ; — 

But I never can forget thee : 
Joy or grief, my heart is thine ! 

Ev'ry storm that can beset me, 
Only tells me thou art mine ! 







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TO A WEEPING BEAUTY. 

Let me wipe oft' that falling tear, 

It ill becomes thy charming eye, 
Which cannot lovelier appear 

Than when it beams without a sigh. 

But if like April's gentle showers, 

When gemm'd with pearly dew-drops bright, 
It falls into the bells of flowers, 

And glistens in the morning light :— 

Then weep again, ye beauteous rills, 

And fill the floweret's sparkling dyes ; — 

For ev'ry gem my bosom thrills, 
That glistens in my charmer's eyes ! 




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TO THE BUTTERFLY. 

Sweet insect of the Summer's day. 

Loving to dwell among the flowers, 
And gaily through the garden stray 
In sunny hours. 

Thou lov'st to kiss the rosy lip 

Of the fair queen of glowing June, 
And from her fragrant bosom, sip 
The rich perfume. 

Thou roamest on from flower to flower, 

Where breezy-breathing incense dwells, 
Unconscious of the fleeting hour 
Time softly knells. 

When feasting on the full-blown rose, 

AVhosc nectrinc juices, sweet as love, 
In rich exuberance repose, 
Why further rove ? 



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TO THE BUTTERFLY. 

There 's not a floweret, rich or fair, 

In garden trim, or lonely wild,, 
Waving its beanty in the air, 
But thou hast spoiled ! 

Thou flutterest with painted wings, 

Through fragrant air, o'er beds of flowers, 
While summer music sweetly rings 
Through fields and bowers. 

Who would not spend his time like thee, 
Sipping of earth's delightsome sweets, 
Then resting 'neath the shady tree, 
In love's retreats ! 

But time will throw his darkening cloud, — 

Already o'er thy head it lowers ; 
'Twill cover thee with mantling shroud, 
And spoil thy flowers ! 

And so poor man, m gayest hour 

Of life's young days — with fleeting breath, 
Wings his gay flight from flower to flower, 
Then sinks in death ! 



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THE DAYS OF YOUTH, ARE THE DAYS OF LOVE. 

The days of youth are the days of love ! 

Each sense in its freshness gay, 
While o'er the fields of life we rove, 

In the flowery paths of May. 

Not a darkening cloud does Heaven obscure, 
A sunny brightness cheers the day. 

How 'witching the scenes that the eyes allure 
In the flowery paths of May. 

O ! then how sweet is the charming maid ! 

Breathing the passion of ardent love : 
Not a leaf in the bloom begins to fade 

Through the range of the verdant grove. 






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THE DAYS OF YOUTH, ARE THE DAYS OV LOVE. 

Her voice, like the music of distant woods, 
Swells on the wings of the gentle gale : 

Her breath is the fragrance of the buds, 
Or the wild rose in the vale. 

The young heart beats with ardent joy, 
The golden moments glide sweetly away • 

Young Cupid catches the lover's eye 
And dances his Roundelay. 

Health blooms on her cheeks with rosy hue, 
As she spreads her charms to the sunny day 

And her tints are the loveliest that ever grew 
In the flowery paths of May. 

The days of youth, are the days' of love ! 

For then Cupid bears his charming sway, 
While through the gay fields of life we rove, 

In the flowery paths of May ! 




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THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI VISITING THE TOMB 
OF LORD BYRON, AT NEWSTEAD ABBEY, 

January, 1833, 

The attachment of the Countess to Lord Byron, amounted almost to devotion, 
and she possessed over him an extraordinary control. At her request he wrote 
" The prophecy of Dante," which he dedicated to her, in 1819, and many touching 
allusions are made to the Countess in his various writings. Captain Medwin, in 
his " Conversations," gives a graphic description of the scene on which the 
following lines are founded. 

Oh ! dearest Byron, sleeping in the dust, 

Unconscious of the heart that grieves for thee, 

That throbbing heart, that weeps and bleeds, yet must 
Succumb to the dire stroke of Heaven's decree, 

My dearest Lord ! say, is thy spirit near, 

To see my sorrow mingling tear for tear ? 

Or do I stand alone, beside thy tomb, 

Beside that sacred form I once adored ; 
Though severed from me now by Nature's doom, 

By fate, perhaps, to be again restored. 
To what fair land, celestial, art thou fled, — 
Where is thy spirit wandering, noble dead? 



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THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI 



Alas ! thy heart entombed is below, 

That heart that once beat high with ardent fire 
That genius sleeps, whose intellectual flow, 

Did thy Don Juan's wondrous freaks inspire. 
Still lives thy spirit in some untold state, — - 
Thou canst not me forget, my dearest mate ! 



That lovely, glowing eye is chilPd in Death, — 

That eye that flashed with fire, or burned with rage, 

Yet sometimes melted into love, beneath 
The smile of beauty in its youthful age : 

Or more when manly vigour brightly glowed, 

And looked all noble from its high abode . 



And that sweet face, once lighted up with smiles, 
On which was painted all that passed within ; 

Like the pure sunshine, 'mid our cares and toils, 
When bursting from a cloud, her light lets in. 

That glorious index of the mind's rich store, 

Is sealed in death, and smiles on me no more. 



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AT THE TOMB OF LORD BYRON. 



When first thy love fired my young thoughtless heart, 
Wreckless ! I ventured all, for thee alone. 

Oh ! little did I think of pain or smart, 
Or deadly sting, or bitter pang or groan ; 

Or that the ruthless hand of cruel Death, 

So soon would chill thy heart, and steal thy breath. 



And little did I think, that I, alone, 

Should pour a flood of grief upon thy tomb 

In Albion's chilly clime ; that I should roam 
To where thy ashes sleep in silent gloom : 

And bathe thy memory dear with bitter tears, 

When womanhood had crowned my youthful years. 



Oh ! Byron, my much honoured, dearest Lord ! 

Most surely Death hath rent our souls in twain. 
Nay ! from my heart be such a thought abhorr'd- 

We must in fields of light meet once again, 
Beyond the power of foes, the reach of time, 
? Mid lovelier scenes, in a far happier clime. 



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THE COUNTESS GU1CCIOH 



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Bright were the suns of our Italian skies, 

And heaven seemed drest on her sweet holiday, j^-~ 

*^ When first I saw thy sweet, bewitching eyes, 

Thy matchless smile, thy spirit light and gay, — 
And all that rich and intellectual spring 
Of thought, and wit, which thou did'st o'er me fling. & 



But where are now those dearest scenes of joy ? 

Where are the voice, the look, the soul, the thought 
Which my sad recollection ne'er can cloy ? 



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Where is thy noble spirit, that which taught 

My soul like Sappho's burning ode V aspire, 

And filled my loving heart with quenchless fire ? 



Oh Death ! most merciless of all to me ! 

How hast thou robbed me of my happier part. 
Remove me next ! thy dart I will not flee, 

Freely I give thee now this throbbing heart. 
Strike ! Strike ! Oh ! strike this weary, worthless clay, 
And let me to my Byron speed away ! 



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AT THE TOMB OF LORD BYRON, 



Henceforth this world is but a waste to me, — 
Byron is passed for ever from my sight ; 

His form adored, I never more shall see, 
And in his absence, all is dismal night. 

Oh cruel Death ! thrice cruel is thy dart, 

Else thou would' st strike at once this bleeding heart 



Would not a victim less illustrious far 

By birth and fame, have satisfied thy greed ? 

Some bloody tyrant, hated pest of War, 
Or child of misery from suffering freed ; 

Some meaner victim of ignoble mind, — 

Could' st thou no other than my Byron find ? 



Were there not Kings to grace thy mighty spoils, — 
Were there not Princes worthy of thy dart, — 

Or Courtier-sycophants, whose winning smiles 
Come creeping from a vain and worthless heart ? 

No ! thy malignant vengeance, fierce as Hell, 

HurPd the envenomed dart, and Byron fell ! 



^^.-^^^^.^^^.^^^^.^^ 



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THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI «^ 

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Oh ! my loved Byron ! Honoured Lord and friend ! 

Thine was a voice sweet as Apollo's lute. Sf — 

The unstrung instrument, that once did blend p* 

& In tones so soft and sweet — alas ! is mute. S*" 

But purified from gross and earthly fires, p* 

Thv soul to God-like theme and deed aspires. w~ * 

.1 There, no calumniating scandals reach, \ 

No slander barbs th' envenomed, cursed dart, j^" 

Nor envy can her thousand minions teach r 

To strike with death the unsuspecting heart. «"" 

Nor feigned friend with hypocritic tear r* 

Shall raise thy burning wrath, or plague thee there. j^* 

O, that my soul were joined to thine above ; u 
Joined, not to part again through endless days. 

Where artless, ardent, faithful, boundless love, |^ 
Should fill our hearts, — and basking in its blaze 



J Each moment be an ecstacy of joy — 

Love — faithful, constant, pure, without alloy. 

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AT THE TOMB OF LORI> BYRON. 



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O, what is truly bliss — bliss without pain, 

Bliss where no trouble tears the faithful heart ? 

'Tis to be joined with those we love again, 

Where neither time, nor foe, nor Death can part ! 

This is to taste immortal joys above, 

Where souls in purity for ever love ! 



How oft my heart, from fair Italians clime, 
Has sighed and sobbed to visit thy dear tomb ! 

And I have sought thy shade from time to time, 
In forest, field, and grove — abroad — at home. 

Gazed on the moon, and thence from star to star 

Through yonder azure firmament afar, 



But nowhere could I track thee, my dear Lord, 
Above, beneath, around — thy spirit fled 

To that far- distant land where, high removed, 
Beatitude awaits th' illustrious dead : 

And sure my Byron there regards my sighs, 

Looking on me in pity from the skies ! 



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THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI AT THE TOMB OV LORD BYRON 



Still I must suffer sadness, pain and woe. 

It matters not — a moment, and 'tis o'er ; 
Then freed from earth, and Death, and every foe 

I reach at last that far-off blissful shore, 
Where all is happiness and peace, and then 
I join my much loved Byron once again ! 




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THE TEAR. 

hat is it gives such kind relief, 
From all the throbbing pains of grief? 
And what the broken heart can cheer, 
Like the soft, silent falling tear ? 



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When far from friendships and from home. 
In distant lands we pensive roam, 

And sigh for those we love most dear — 

How precious is the falling tear ! 



Ah ! who can see sweet beauty die, 
Without affection's struggling sigh — 
Or friends stretched on the mournful bier, — 
Without the softly silent tear ? 



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HE TEAR. 



The tear is Nature's sweet relief, 
In ev'ry joy, in ev'ry grief. 
The tear succeeds the heaving sigh, 
Streaming blest comfort from the eye. 



Amid our many ills below, 
Pity accompanies each blow : 
'Twas Heaven that in its mercy, here, 
Gave comfort in the falling tear. 



Though ev'ry source of joy be fled, 
And all the friends we loved are dead,- 
Yet a relief is ever near, 
When gushes forth the falling tear. 



Has disappointment's deadly dart 
Wounded the lover's bleeding heart ?— 
Struck the loved object once so dear? — • 
Nature provides the soothing tear. 



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THE TEAK, 



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In joy and pleasure, grief and pain, 
In loss of health, or friends, or gain, 
In troubles, howsoe'er severe, 
Relief comes in the falling tear. 



O God of mercy ! let our tears 
Plead for the sins of former years ; 
And penitential joy return 
To bless the souls that humbly mourn ! 



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ON THE PLEASURES OF DREAMING. 

When gentle slumber drowns the soul, 

And day dreams are forgot, 
New scenes before the fancy stroll. 

In palace and in cot. 

We live again in other worlds, 

Old friends we seem to meet ; 
The vernal sun her face unveils, 

And flowers are bright and sweet. 

We range the wood and flowery lawn, 

Beyond the haunts of men ; 
Here flies the stag, there skips the fawn, 

O'er mountain, dale and glen. 

We sit beside the purling stream, 

And hear the Zephyr's sigh ; 
Or bask beneath the summer's beam, 

Though Winter's winds are high. 









ON THE PLEASURES OE DREAMING 



Then music with her heavenly charms, 

Lulls the delighted ear, 
Or like a flood of pleasure, drowns 

The soul, with gushing tear. 

Phantasmagoric figures move, 

Before the mental eye ; 
Or busy household scenes of love, 

And mirth of infancy. 

The dancing, masquerading nymph, 

Frolics, or frowns, or leers ; 
The sylph, or fairy form, or imp, 

With magic movement cheers. 

Then Indian groves appear, with fruit, 

Delicious — lovely — fair ; 
Or orange bowers, where blossoms shoot 

In a less sultry air. 

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A thousand faces soft and fair, 

Glide on before the sight, — 
Voices, as soft as evening air, jk 

And forms with lustre bright. 









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ON THE PLEASURES OF DREAMING. 

Then luscious grapes invite the hand, 

And tempt the longing sight, 
With bunches in a clustering band, 

To minister delight. 

These are the scenes that charm our sleep, 

If guileless, virtuous, good : 
Scenes, which oft make us laugh and weep, 

Though dimly understood. 

On earth we live a double life ; 

One, broad awake by day, — 
The other, with strange pageants rife, 

While fancy holds her sway. 

Yea, Life itself is but a dream 

Of strange and varied things, 
And gliding forward on the stream, 

Old Time the morning brings. 

Then bursting into boundless day, 

Beyond the reach of Time, 
We mingle in Eternity, 

And hear Heaven's music chime. 



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THE LOVER'S ADIEU. 



Dear girl, I bid thee sad adieu ! 

Farewell ! my dear, but not for ever ; 
I shall return, unchanged and true, !S 

And nought again from thee shall sever. 
My faithful heart for thee shall pray, 
In earnest accents, night and day. 



Though absent from thy beauteous form, 

Its image ever present is : 
I feel thy cheek, and press it warm, 

And steal from thee the fancied kiss. 
Thy beaming eye, and tender glance, 
In rapture all my soul entrance. 



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I think of thy sweet, rosy lips, 

So lovely formed — more purely sweet, 

Than where the roving wild-bee sips 
His honied treasure ; there they meet, 

In'glowing beauty — lovely pair ! 

No other lips e'er formed so fair. 



>j! When I return, love, nuptial bliss 



Shall cheer our hearts and join our hands, 
Crowning with joy each ardent wish, 

In Love's indissoluble bands. 
Life then shall sweetly glide along, 
While Love exults in rapturous song ! 




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Thy dulcet voice, 'tis bliss to hear, 

Tis more than music to my soul ; 
Present or absent, far or near, 

Its gentle accents seem to roll. 
Blending with thoughts of thy dear charms— ^ 

And then I rush into thine arms ! 

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ODE TO LIBERTY. 

Goddess of Freedom ! determine my breast 

To die in thy cause, if such need there should be, 
That living or dying I still may be blest 

With Freedom's rich sweets, — and that virtuous and free, 

1 may breathe out my soul warmed with liberty's fires, 
While its heart-cheering theme ev'ry moment inspires, 

; Tis this that ennobles the nature of man, — 

In dignity, raises him nearer to heaven: 
It has life-giving vigour, deny it who can ; 

The despot ignoble, by Freedom is driven. 
That man who imbibes it is noble and brave, 
And oppression no longer can make him a slave. 



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ODE TO LIBERTY 



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He is truly illustrious who feels he is free, 5* 

His nobility pure, let but Freedom inspire ; jSH" 

The soul is unfettered, the heart beats with glee, f 

When the bosom is glowing with Liberty's fire. 5^ 

He grasps all mankind as his brethren and friends, r 

While his prayer for their weal without ceasing ascends. 4 



O Liberty ! Liberty f thou art the theme 

That cheers the high-soul' d, and the heart of the brave. 

When o'er nations thou rollest like mightiest stream, 

Corruption retires as a crest-fallen knave. f^"" 

Then the good is ennobled, enfranchised the mind,— IV 

Thou releasest the slave, and enlight'nest the blind. 



Without thee, this world were a chaos of woe, — - 
A prison, where miscreant despots preside ; 

Where crime with the rankest luxuriance would grow, 
While virtue and goodness would fall side by side ; 

Oppression and slaughter roll forth as a flood, 

And deluge the nations with tear-drops and blood ! 



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ODE TO LIBERTY. 



Sweet Liberty truly ennobles a race, 

And makes its recipients happy as free : 
True Liberty has for the tyrant no place : 

When a people have tasted of Liberty's tree, 
It inspires them with life — gives them strength to its close, 
And triumphs at last whatsoe'er may oppose* 



Without thee, sweet Liberty S better by far 

Were man's being destroyed by the fell hand of Fate ; 
u By the clashing of arms on the red field of war — 

Or the wrath of the Furies in deadliest hate ; 
By earthquake, or flood, or the pestilence dire, 
Or the Angel of death in his chariot of fire. 

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Freedom crowned the brave Greek in primitive times, 
When the Arts were advanced to the state of the Gods ; 

And she feared not the hosts of those barbarous climes, 

Whom she chased from her soil, or she scourged with her rods. 

And while onward she rolled like a proud swelling sea, 

Her maidens were lovely, her heroes were free ! 



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ODE TO LIBERTY 



Ancient Rome ere she bowed her proud neck to the yoke. 

Was puissant and great, was illustrious and brave ; 
Independent as fearless, exulting she broke 

Every chain that could clog her, or make her a slave. 
Then the genius of Freedom overshadowed her land, 
And a legion of Heroes protected her strand. 



O ! soon may the African slave hear thy voice, 
And Asia too dance to the sound of thy lyre, 

And the Helots of Europe in Freedom rejoice, 

While they burn with the flame of Columbian fire. 

Then man will in honour and dignity rise, 

And a chorus of gratitude sound to the skies ! 




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THE LAST OF THE DRUIDS. 

A METRICAL LEGEND. 

The last of the Druids uplifted his eyes, 

His beard was all flowing and grey ; 
His brethren had died, both the good and the wise, 

In a brighter and happier day. 

On the tops of the mountains, now darkened as night, 
Their holiest fires once had glowed ; — 

There they had performed the Druidical rite, 
And the blood of the victim had flowed. 

At Stone- Henge the council of Warriors had met, 

And the old Druid there did preside ; 
The scenes they enacted he could not forget, 

In that temple of pomp and of pride. 

Those huge massive stones that were still to be seen, 

Taught a lesson for History's page ; 
To all that enquired, they disclosed what had been, 



While they told to the most distant age,- 



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THE LAST OF THE DRUIDS. 

How the deeds of the Brave were rehearsed at each feast, 

And the warrior's bosom was inspired ; 
How their foes had been conquered, their prisoners released, 

While each youth was with chivalry fired : 

How Caractacus met, like a lion, in arms, 

His warriors fearless and brave, 
Each pledging to shield his lov'd country from harms, 

And never to crouch to the slave : 

How if legions of Romans again should appear, 

His country he promised to save 
By his army of Britons, whose arrow and spear, 

Should dig for each Roman a grave. 

The last of the Druids thus poured his lament 

Near a forest of oaks where he stood ; 
The raven croaked loud, while the bat and the owl 

Fluttered by in the depths of the wood. 



The sun seemed all mourning, overshadowed with clouds, 

And hushed was the Zephyr's soft breath, 
And night-birds, ere evening, had gathered in crowds — 

To the Druid a symbol of Death. Jb 



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THE LAST OF THE DRUIDS. 



A wild tremor seized on his cold, cold limb, 

The death-sweat came over his face, 
And the ghosts of his friends o'er his vision did swim, 

As he neared to the end of his race. 



On a low couch of leaves, from the wide-spreading oak, 
He lay stretched in the writhings of death, 

For an instant he opened his eyes, as awoke, 
Each second more feeble his breath. 



A Christian passed near at the moment, by chance, 
He was reverend and gentle in mien, 

St. Austin his name— and with tender advance, 
He burst into tears at the scene. 

" Oh ! brother," he said, ' ' look upward to Heaven 
From thy couch of oak-leaves and of moss, 
For thee, a poor sinner, salvation is given — ■ 
Behold the God-man on the Cross ! " 

He then from his doublet a Crucifix drew, 

'Twas of ivory carved at Rome, 
With the arms of the Saviour extended to view — 

But the Druid exclaimed, with a groan — 




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THE LAST OF THE DRUIDS. 

" Ah ! that Cross has long triumphed, I own it with tears, 
Our temples are left in disgrace ; 
Our religion destroyed after thousands of years, 
And I am the last of my Race ! 

" Kind father, I die in the faith of my sires, 
It is not the faith of a day ; 
From ages of old we have kindled our fires, 
When yon Sun was in youthfulness gay. 

"The moon, and yon stars have beheld us with joy, 
Attending our holiest rite, 
And have smiled as they gazed from their orbits on high 
While we lightened the darkness of night. 

" Shall I be apostate — That never can be ! — - 
From the faith of my fathers of old? 
No ! soon I shall join all the great and the free, 
With our Priests and our Warriors bold, 

" In the halls of the Blessed, above yon bright sky, 
I see them assembled again : 
With them I have HVd, and with them I will die, 
Thev're the best and the noblest of men. 



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THE LAST OF THE DRUIDS. 



" Now Christian, I'm dying— the last of my Race ! 
One favour from thee I would crave : — 
Jfj Under yon spreading oak I have chosen a place, 

There I pray thee to dig me a grave. 



iC Spread the grave with green moss, and with leaves of the oak, 
There let me repose with my sires, 
For that is the spot where our slumbers we broke, 
When we watched in the night-time our fires/' 

Thus saying he covered his face, and his breath 

Each moment grew shorter, and then 
He whisper' d just faintly, while sinking in death — 

" I join all my friends once again ! " 

St. Austin prepared him the grave he desired 

Soon as heav'n sent the old man release : 
For beneath the spread oak he had lovM and admired, 

The Druid reposes in peace ! 










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THE ISLAND OF BEAUTY. 

When Albion's white cliffs first upheaved from the main, 
And her island was formed with its mountain and plain, 
The Genius of Beauty looked down from the skies, 
And saw that fair Island of Beauty arise. 
Then the Genius declared as she soared through the air— 
Her men shall be brave, and her damsels be fair ! 



*Tis the Island of Beauty, and ever shall be ; 

It shall proudly withstand the wild waves of the sea, 

Though the billows may swell, and the tempest may roar, 

From the white cliffs of Dover, around the north shore. 

I 'm the angel of Albion, she is my care— 

Her men shall be brave, and her damsels be fair ! 



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THE ISLAND OF BEAUTY 



With woods I will cover my sweet sea-girt isle, 
Her valleys with foliage and verdure shall smile ; 
Bright flowers shall spring up, clothed in loveliest dyes, 
Which in fragrance and beauty shall ope to the skies ; 
J The corn in her valleys like billows shall wave — 

Her maids shall be lovely, her men shall be brave ! 



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The monarch of Woods ! which shall dare the fell stroke 
Of the lightning's blast, and shall carry her sons . 
O'er the ocean to battle, while thundering guns 
Shall proclaim on the deep, and resound through the air, 
That her men are as brave as her damsels are fair ! 



No demon of Slavery hither shall come ; 

In Albion, each Despot shall find a sure doom 

Though bloodshed and battle of need there must be 

Oppression shall fall, and each Briton be free ! 

The Heroes of Albion none shall enslave — 

Her maids shall be fair, and her men shall be brave 



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THE ISLAND OF BEAUTY. 

The light deer shall gambol amid the green wood; 
Cropping herbage and moss, and young leaf for its food 
The swift-footed courser dash over the plain, 
And neighing in pride, all control shall disdain : 
Sweet birds with their music shall burden the air — 
Her men shall be brave, and her maids shall be fair ! 

Her cities shall rise and to science give birth, 
And her commerce pervade all domains of the earth ; 
Each art to perfection she quickly shall raise, 
While all nations accord to her homage and praise : 
Her barks proudly riding shall govern the wave — ■ 
Her maids shall be lovely, her men shall be brave ! 

As a Rock in mid ocean, she firmly shall stand, 
Her foes shall recede like the waves on her strand : 
She shall liberty give to the down-trodden slave, 
And bury the despot in tyranny's grave. 
The red rose and thistle her standard shall bear — ■ 
Her men shall be brave, and her maids shall be fair ! 



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WOMAN IN THE PRIME OF LIFE, 

As smiles a cloud in the expanse of heaven/ 

Robed in enamelPd gold and snowy whiteness,— 
By gentlest breath, in noiseless motion driven 

Across the ether, with an airy lightness : 
So Woman, in the bloom of beauty's prime ! 

When lovely blushes o'er her cheeks are playing ; 
Gliding along the fairest of her clime, 

While sweetest glances from her eyes are straying. 




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LINES TO LOVE AND BEAUTY. 

Thy sweet black eye, 

That looks so sly, 
Yet chastened down with virgin blushes ; 

My soul must charm, 

My breast must warm,— 
Eesistless love is in its rushes, 

If blessed with thee, 

My lot should be, 
All other bliss should sink and die : 

And life's sweet hours, 

Ye guardian powers, 
Should wrap my soul in purest joy. 



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Where heav 5 n pervades, 
Our tranquil souls should bathe in love ; 



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LINES TO LOVE AND BEAUT V. 



In blissful shades, 



The smiling sky, 
Should light thine eye,— 
More sparkling than the stars above. 



That tender breast, 

Its love confest, 
When first encircled in these arms : 

The rapturous kiss, 

The untold bliss,— 
What blushing sweetness in those charms ! 



Not the blue sky, 

In vault so high, 
Which watching shepherds gaze beguiles ;— 

Nor yet the rose, 

Which sweetly blows, 
Can be compared to thy sweet smiles ! 



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LINES TO LOVE AND BEAUTY. 

'Twere rapt'rous bliss, 

To steal a kiss. 
From lips as blushing as the rose : 

Nay, it were love, 

Like that above, 
Which in the breast of seraph glows ! 




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THE RECLUSE. 

i REE from care and ev'ry sorrow, 
Happy in my cell I live ; 
Not a thought about to-morrow, 
Heaven that day its good will give. 

X Having cleared that sea of trouble, 
Where poor helpless man is toss' 
And his ills for ever double, 
Until Hope has anchor lost,— 

Here, my time in contemplation, 
Through the night and day I spend ; 

Happy in my humble station, 
Till the hours of life shall end. 

Here ambition ne'er can enter, 
Pride and envy are unknown ; 

Grov'ling thoughts, would never venture, 
To invade my spotless throne. 



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THE RECLUSE. 



Verdant fields and bubbling fountains, 
Pleasant meadows and green hills ; 

Towering rocks, and heath-clad mountains, 
See the bliss my bosom fills ! 

Days and years, but waft me nearer 
To my rest beyond the grave : 

Death, but makes my prospect clearer, 
Free from fear, for God will save. 

O ! how blissful is my station, 
Far from worldly care and strife ; 

Nearing heaven by sweet gradation, 
Bliss in death, and bliss in life ! 

C- 

Charming solitude ! thy blessing 

Ravishes my soul with love ; 
Like the early dew, refreshing,— 

Peaceful as the heaven above. 

Wintry storms pass o'er my dwelling, 
But the lamp within burns clear ; 

Days and years, with solemn knelling, 
Only bring heaven's glory near. 



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THE RECLUSE. 



How exalted are thy wonders, 
O, Thou glorious Lord of all ! 

Heav'n the pealing anthem thunders, 
Earth respondeth to the call. 



Calm, in contemplation musing, 
Here I watch the circling year ; 

And my soul her subjects choosing, 
Marks the stars in yonder sphere ; 

Watches the bright meteor, flying 
O'er the heavens in fiery light, — 

Or in azure vault, is eyeing 

Star-beams through the arch of night. 

Free as air the mind can wander, 
' Thwart the sky, or over earth; 

Through the valley, or o'er mountains, 
Where the echoes have their birth. 



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Where the cowslip's bloom is flow'ring, 
Where the primrose rears her head ; 

Where the fox-glove bells are towering, 
Or the violet makes her bed. 






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THE RECLUSE. 

Where the wild-rose buds are blushing. 
Where the woodbine scents the air : 

Where the stock-dove's notes are hushing, 
And the lovely wood-larks pair. 

Where the birds their notes are singing, 

Filling ev'ry bush with love ; 
Woodland solitudes, all ringing, 

With the music of the grove. 



Or the gentler streamlets' laving, 
Murmuring music on the ear ; 

AY here the quiet sheep are grazing, 
With the lambkins playing near. 



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AVhere the verdant vales are blooming, 

And the daisy ope's to day ; 
Where the lily unpresuming, 

Blooms unseen in genial May. 

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Where the busy bee is roaming, 

8? j Rifling flowers of nectarine sweets ; 

Or the cascades' waters, foaming 
Onward to their wild retreats. 






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THE RECLUSE. 



Where the swan majestic, swimming, 
Sweeps along the glassy flood ; 

And the lark her theme is hymning, 
Near the margin of the wood. 

Where the silver clouds are shining, 
And the azure vat lit appears ; 

Where the beauteous flowers, are lining 
Grassy lawns, while sunlight cheers. 

Here will I in happy musing, 
Pass the tranquil hours of life. 

Evermore, my soul refusing 

Sordid wealth and pleasure rife. 

Happy, in the sacred treasure, 
Of a virtue free from guile, 

Joy is mine beyond all measure, — 
Happy, contemplative toil ! 




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THE CAPTIVE SKYLARK. 

Poor bird ! how piteous thy chains, 
Prisoner within those wiry bars ; 

I hear thee pour thy mournful strains,- 
Cursing thy stars. 

Caught by a ruthless, cruel hand, 
Rude man retains thee as his prize : 

Captive for life at his command,— 
I hear thy sighs. 









Thy cage, both prison-house and grave, — ■ 

No more thou'lt fan the morning air, 
Nor up to heav'n on fluttering wing, zl> 

Thy matins bear. 



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THE CAPTIVE SKYLARK. 

No more on high, behind yon cloud, 
Towering aloft on breezy morn, 

Shall thy sweet notes be heard aloud, 
By zephyrs borne. 

No more thou'lt welcome the first dawn 
Of opening day, with rosy beams, 

While o'er the verdant field and lawn, 
Its beauty streams. 

No more thou'lt wake the sweet repose, 
And golden dreams of peasant's care ; 

Where grow the woodbine and the rose, 
Scenting the air. 

Sweet portress of the morning hour, 
Whose music soars to heav'n above, 

And whose melodious numbers pour 
In notes of love : — 

No more thou'lt see the violet bow, 
Bend gracefully across the skies, 

And radiant with its burning glow, 
Delight thine eyes. 



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THE CAPTIVE SKYLARK. 



No more in songs of am'rous love, 



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Bound by affection to thy mate, 
Thou'lt joyous o'er the meadows rove, 
With love elate ! 



No more thou'lt build the curious nest, 
Nor rear with care thy twittering young, 

Nor tell thy tale of love, imprest 
With gayest song. 

So the poor captive Slave, in chains, 

Torn from his kindred, home and friends, 
Sweet liberty no more regains,— 

3 His freedom ends. 

In bitter sorrow and in pains. 

He vents his woes with plaintive breath ; 
Lingers awhile on burning plains, — 
»j Then sinks in death ! 







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AN EPICEDIUM. 

COMPOSED IN A VILLAGE CHURCHYARD. 

At dusk of eve, I took my silent way, 
With lonely steps, in melancholy mood, 

To muse awhile, and pour a mournful lay 
Where mirth and vanity could not obtrude. 

The sun had sunk beyond a western cloud, 
Gilding the edge of its fantastic form ; 

The sable rook had gone to rest, and loud 
The distant boatman blew his mellow horn. 

The soft-toned blackbird poured his pensive lay, 
As pleasing silence stole o*er hill and dale ; 

The twilight lingered ere departing day, 

And purling waters murmured through the vale. 



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AN EPICEDIUM. 

The evening star was twink'ling in the west, 
The glow-worm glistened on the woodland nigh 

The busy tribes of air were hush'd to rest,- — 
And distant objects faded on the eye. 

The bat adventured from his murky den, 
And beat with rapid wing the misty air ; 

The owl was skimming o'er the silent glen, 
And thoughtful melancholy stole a tear. 

There is a something in the shades of night, 
Which wakes to pensiveness the soul of man ; 

A sentimental musing of delight, 

A retrospective glance on life's short span. 

'Tis Avise to leave the living throng, and cast 
A momentary thought on man's last hour :■ — 

To mingle with the generations past, 

Where in lone beauty stands the gothic tower. 

The images that rise before the mind, 
Where congregated atoms mingling rest, 

Leave ev'ry low and grov'ling thought behind, 
And wrap the soul in sorrow's solemn vest. 






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AN EPICEDIUM. 

Time, like a river, from its infant source 

Bears onward human life and earthly things, 

And consummates with a resistless force, 
The destinies of empires and of kings. 

The proud and lofty to the earth return, 

Where the worm riots on the haughty face ; 

And poor mortality her lot may mourn, 
Above the countless dust of many a race. 

Old pile ! what generations thou hast seen, 

Pass in procession through thy western door,— 

But. Death hath strewed them 'neath the flow'ry green, 
Mingled with silent dust, they are no more ! 

The fiery eye with angry glance, is dim, — 

The rosy cheek once blushing health, is pale, — 

And motionless in death, the active limb 
That trip't so nimbly o'er the verdant vale. 

That voice that once harmonious filled the air, 
Those active fingers speeding o'er the lyre, 

That heaving bosom, beautiful as fair, — 
Have lost the impulse of their heav'nly fire. 



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AN EPICEDIUM. 

Here lisping innocence is hushed to sleep, 
Here cradled childhood rests its weary head, 

Here suffering agony has ceased to wee), — 
Mortal ! tread lightly o'er the solemn dead 1 

Here suffocating asthma lies at rest, 
And wasting atrophy, and fell disease ; 

And honest industry, no more distrest 
By hopeless penury, here sleeps in peace. 

The blooming child, nipt like a tender flow'r 

By chilling winds, or an untimely frost, 
Has sunk to slumber at an early hour, 
No longer on life's stormy ocean tossed. 

The blushing damsel and the country swain, 
See side by side, pillow'd in lovely peace ; 

And silver-headed age, that strove in vain 
To lengthen life, has here found kind release, 

And jolly youth, who at the early dawn 

Brushed off the pearly dew-drops from the flow'rs, 

When in the wood, or on the grassy lawn, 
He heard the lark sing in the morning hours. 



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Here virgin innocence has sunk in death, 

Ere she had tasted the sad cup of life ; 
And disappointed love resigned her breath, 

In sweet forgetfuless of pain and strife. 

Here, widow'd tears were shed upon the bier 
Of the loved husband, struck by cruel dart : 

And weeping children dropt the tender tear 
Of filial love, while sorrow pierced the heart, 

Here kindred join who seldom met before, 
And sleep in peace upon their tranquil beds ; 

Here noisy mirth is still, and wild uproar, 
While the sad mourner slowly o'er them treads. 

Here Genius too, has droop'd her towering wings, 
Pierced by fell death, while soaring through the sky ; 

No more on earth the themes of heaven she sings, 
Nor o'er her hapless state pours forth a sigh. 

Oft has the silver moon-beam's glimmering light, 
Shed her pale splendour through those shady trees ; 

Oft the dark shadows of the silent night, 

In spectred form moved with the rustling breeze. 



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AN EPICEDIUM. 



The Lover, all disconsolate and wild, 

Has shed her tears, upon the lowly grave 
Of that dear form, which once her hours beguiled, 



But whom her tenderest care has failed to save. 

Oh, what a flood of anguish swells her breast ! 

How pale her visage, and her heart how sad : 
She kneels upon the mossy turf, distress'd, 

And in desponding melancholy clad. 

She throws herself upon the hallowed spot, 

Where her loved lost one slumbers underneath ; 

His noble form and voice, are not forgot,— 
Her swelling bosom heaves the sigh of death. 

Oft the sad passing bell has told its tale, 

As souls have entered through the gates of death ; 

And solemn requiems murmured on the gale, 

When man, frail man, resigned his fleeting breath. 



Time rolls continuously on silent wheels, 
Bringing to earth the millions of our kind ; 

O'er coronets and sceptres slowly steals, 
And levels all, leaving no trace behind, 

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AN EPICEDIUM. 



For centuries, the breezes of the spring- 
Have never swept along thy cloistered aisle ; 
But heavy shadows, o'er thy glories fling 



Their sombre shade, thou venerable pile ! 



Above those vaults, where the once powerful lie, 

The humble daisy grew in days of yore ; 
And fleecy clouds spread o'er the sunny sky, 
B Saw the blue violet peeping through thy floor. 



Where now lies stiff the stout Herculean limb, 
And tottering age has sunk to silent rest, 

And beauty's sparkling eyes are ever dim, — 
Young spring once gaily danced in flow'ry vest. 

Those scenes are passed — passed never to return, 
And generations since have died away ; 

Noiseless as clouds across the ether borne, 
Or gentle twilight closing in the day. 

It matters not, however great or wise, 
Immortalized — we garnish but a tomb : 

Death's mighty trophies wake a sad surprise, 
When they reveal frail man's relentless doom. 



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AN EPICEDIUM. 

And then , there is the something after death, 
The vast uncertainty beyond that shore — 

When earth recedes, and man resigns his breath, 
What unknown, trackless worlds will he explore 

The dreadful secret we shall one day know ; 

Perhaps e're many suns have gilt the skies, 
Far other scenes than those we saw below, 

Will have o'er- whelmed the soul with strange surprise : 

And the last toll, of the last passing bell, 

Will send its cadence down this verdant vale ; 

How soon — how late — we cannot now foretell, 
But the last tone must sound, and cannot fail. 

What changes these six centuries have seen ! 

And six to come, may see as many more ; 
Thy vaults again be spread with flowery green, 

And o'er thy turf-bound graves, nojnortal pore. 

Then shall all trace, of existence, waste 
In empty air — and stillness reign around ; 

Then the last Epitaph, by time erased, 

Shall cease to tell who sleeps beneath the ground. 






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HULTON ABBEY. 

Far up the winding stream of ancient 'Trent, 
The Abbe)' reared its venerable head ; 

Grave monks their time in sweet devotion spent, 
And crosier'd Abbots the procession led. 

Here, Audley's Lord, the spacious meadows gave, 
Meandering gently down the verdant vale, 

Through which Trends waters musically laved, 
Their lovely cadence murmuring on the gale. 

For full four centuries, this sacred spot 
Echoed the matin and the vesper song ; 

And at still midnight, day scenes all forgot, 

Their heavenly numbers trembled on the tongue. 



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Ave Maria ! and the Jubilate, 

Were sung on Festival and holy day ; 
And often flowed the solemn aspirate, 

When evening star ushered the morning* s ray. 

Oh ! who can censure such divine employ, 

When worship yearns from pure and guileless breasts ? 
Oh ! who can half conceive the heavenly joy, 

Which on the soul devout, for ever rests ? 



Here gothic beauty charmed the captive sight, 
And silent grandeur reigned above — around ; 

Dimly obscure crept in the chastened light, 

Beneath the fretted roofs, with carvings crowned. 






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Sweet Solitude ! what state on earth like thee ! 

Breathing thy tuneful anthems pure as heav'n ; y 

When from all care, and wordly temper free, S 

To meditation the whole soul given. 



In the sweet intervals of duteous hours, |\ 

They paced the Abbey cloisters cool and green, 

The sunshine smiling on the opening flow'rs, 
And Landscape hemming in the lovely scene 



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HULTON ABBEY. 

Here pity's tear fell over tlie distressed,— 
Kind hospitality the poor received ; 

The sigh of syinpthy filled ev'ry breast, 
Sorrow was solaced— indigence relieved. 

Here, placid as the face of yonder sky, 

When sweet Aurora wakes the morning lyre, 

Celestial piety sat throned on high, 

And warm'd each bosom with her heavenly fire. 

But, dire destruction follow'd Henry's word,— 
Its wealth was seized by sacriligeous hands ; 

Cromwell soon afterwards unsheathed his sword, 
And spoiled its beauty with Vandalic bands. 

Its inmates fled with consternation wild, 
Banished for ever fron their blest abode ; 

Marauding strangers then the Abbey spoiFd, 
And quickly scattered its remains abroad. 

Sad desolation now pervades the spot, 

Each solemn hymn has died upon the breeze ; 

And H niton's holy sons are all forgot, 

Sleeping in death beneath umbrageous trees, 



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The whisp'ring wind mourns o'er their silent graves, 
The cowslip peeps anear their lowly bed ; — 

The muse, the tear of sympathy would crave, 
To wet the grassy turf above them spread. 



Ah ! who will one day do the same for me, 

When the green moss shall o'er my mansion creep ? 5 

For soon, from mortal pain my spirit free, 

Like Hulton's inmates, I shall gently sleep. &- 







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TO THE WOOD LARK. 

Sweet syren of the verdant grove, 
Thou lov'st in still retreats to rove,— - 
To pour thy notes in cheerful strains 
From tops of trees, o'er distant plains , 
The charming richness of thy voice 
Makes the lonely wilds of the wood rejoice.. 

I see thee mount in airy flight, 
Robed in the rays of morning light ; 
Pouring a flood of music loud, 
On the bosom of yon silver cloud 3 
Circling the maze with fluttering wings, 
While the azure with tliv matin rings. 



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TO THE WOOD LARK. S— 

Now, poised aloft on thy sunny throne. 

Warbling thy song with artless tone,— 

Thy melody floating on breeze of day, 

In dying numbers melts away ; 
A song as soft as CEolian lyre, 
Intoning the music that zephyrs inspire, 

I watch thee sail from the cloud of morn, - 

Soft on the wings of ether borne 

Down the retreats of the silent wood, 

Where the lofty pine hath admiring stood,— 
And gently descending, with fluttering breast, 
Seeking in lowliest grass thy nest. 

Surely angels alighting from their sphere, 

Might bend to thee a listening ear ; • 

And rising from earth to realms above, 

Might join thy notes with their songs of love,— 
And mounting aloft on golden wing, 
'Mid the music of heaven thy Carol song! 



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LINES TO SENSIBILITY. 

Sweet Sensibility, true friend— all hail ! 

Oft hast thou whispered in my ear, the tale 

Of joy and sorrow, pleasure and distress, 

Yet wish I not one joy or sorrow less. 

By thee, I converse hold with outward things, 

And scale the mountain top, on gladsome wings — 

Mount on the fiery cloud in yonder sky- — ■ 

Gaze on the rainbow's arch up-lifted high,-— 

Or on the pinions of the whirlwinds ride,— 

Or sail upon the ocean's surging tide, — 

Or plunge into the awful caves below, 

Where monsters roam, and floating sea- weeds grow. 

By thee, upon the sunbeam's burning ray, 

I mingle with the blaze of orient day ; — 

Or where the setting sun in gory red, 

Dipping his fiery train in ocean's bed, 

Sinks from the world, withdraws his glowing light 

And leaves the earth to shadows and to night : 

Then studs the firmament with burning gems, 

Pure as if set in angel diadems. 






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LINES TO SENSIBILITY. 

By thee I watch the comet's lurid blaze, 
Filling the wondering soul with deep amaze. 
By thee I commune with each twinkling star, 
Passing through fields of light in fiery car, — 
Where soaring thought, traverses night's domain, 
With worlds by millions sprinkled in her train, — : 
Till the sublime no more to thought gives birth, 
And baffled fancy, back returns to earth. 




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ODE TO LOVE AND BEAUTY. 

Beauty ! what art thou ? thou mysterious thing, 
Divine impresser of the human breast ; — 

Say, art thou honey sweet ? or dost thou sting 

The trusting heart that seeks in thee her rest ? 

Say, does thy influence bitter sorrow bring, 

When on the soul its pleasing visions dwell, — 

As airy fancy, towering on the wing 

Of ardent hope, the youthful bosom swells ? 



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ODE TO LOVE AND BEAUTY. 

Art thou a shadow passing o'er the mind, 

Whose unsubstantial bliss we cannot feel ? 

Or, does thy influence, like the magnet, bind 
With cords invisible, the pointing steel ? 

Art thou a spirit, passing through the earth, 

Breathing celestial fragrance on the breeze? 

Or, the pure soul of heaven, whose love gave birth 
To this fair world, with firmament and seas ? 

Art thou a dew-drop from th' eternal stream 

That rolled in heaven ere fleeting time began ? 

Or, a bright ray of light's effulgent beam, 
Illumining the cheerless breast of man ? 



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Art thou a spark from the all-hallowed fire 

For ever burning in the realms above> 
Warming the wooer's breast with pure desire ? — 

Surely, O, Beauty, thy true name is — Love !' 5 



Do flowers yield to thy influence, as they grow 
In nestling groups upon the mossy down ? 

Do they attract each others hearts, and glow 
In smiles of beauty,— or in anger frown ? 









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ODE TO LOVE AND BEAUTY. 

Is the plant Sensitive, (that shrinks with fear 
Lest a rnde touch its purity should soil,) 

Inspired by modesty, to shed the tear 

Before the glance that might its lustre spoil ? 

Does the sunflower feel love at early day, 

When ope's her wide-spread bosom to the skies, — 

Receiving in her heart, the first bright ray 

Of morning light, warm from her lover's eyes ? 

Or, does the deeply tinted marigold 

Thy passion feel,— displaying her fair flower,— 
Her golden face beaming with charms untold, 

From the sun rising to its setting hour ? 

I will not ask if birds thy power partake, — 

For Love and Beauty swell their fluttering breasts, 

Breathing in songs across the wood and brake, 
While skilfully they build their little nests. 

As the lark rises with the morning light, 

And wings his airy flight in songs above, 

Each varied strain inspires him with delight, 
And every note is big with glowing love. 



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ODE TO LOVE AND BEAUTY. 

The mournful blackbird too, and piercing thrush, 

Which pour their mellow songs o'er hill and dale,- 

Sigh in Love's murmurs from the hawthorn-bush, 
And woo the love-sick maid along the vale. 

The soft-toned cuckoo swells his amorous notes, 
As down the sunny vale he wings his flight ; 

The warbling nightingale, her love-song floats 

In tuneful numbers 'mid the shades of night. 

Beauty ! what art thou ? thou mysterious thing, 
Divine impresser of the human breast ; — 

Say, art thou honey sweet ? or dost thou sting 

The trusting heart that seeks in thee her rest ? 




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THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 

'Twas the last Rose of Summer that perfumed the air, — 

I beheld it with feelings of pity profound : 
While smiling with sweetness that rivalled the fair, 
-» And blushing in beauty, — it fell to the ground ! 

As I pensively gazed on its elegant form, 

And its exquisite fragrance was stealing around, 

The colours turned pale, that had glowed in the morn,-— 
? Twas the last Rose of Summer that fell to the ground ! 

There's a Rose I admire, — shall her bloom also fade,— 
Shall her charms and endearments lie scattered around, — 

Will time the sweet bloom of her beauty invade ? — 

Yes ! the last Rose of Summer must fall to the ground ! 



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HEAVEN, OR THE LAND OF SOULS. 

There is a land of Souls, beyond this life, 

Where pure Intelligence puts forth her powers ; 

A land, where happiness and joy are rife, 

And lovely virtue her sweet influence showers. 

A land, where souls can join in purest love, 

Unmixed with sensual thought, or earthly dross ; 

Nor one volition from the breast can rove 

Beyond the bounds where virtue holds her course. 

There is a land where friends shall meet again, 

Beyond the limit of this fleeting life ; 
Where welcome greets them in true friendship's strain, — 

Friendship, too pure to mix with earthly strife. 



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HEAVEN, OR THE LAND OF SOULS. 

There is a land where those who love ne'er part, 
Nor fear the frowns of fortune nor of fate ; 

Where ev'ry pulse that heaves the throbbing heart, 
Beats but to tell its untold, happy state. 

There is a land where sickness ne'er invades, 
Nor pain, nor weariness, nor fearful death ; 

Where beauty is unchanging,— never fades, 

Nor age pours forth its plaints with feeble breath. 

There is a land, where intuitive Truth 

Reveals her light with sunbeams to the mind ; 

Where knowledge flourishes with richest growth, 
Leaving earth's dim imaginings behind. 

There is a land where storms can never roar, 
Nor heat oppress, nor anguish tear the breast ; 

Where cherub wings in joy ethereal soar, 
And sweet repose is lost in changeless rest. 

There is a land where bliss supremely dwells, 
Flowing in constant streams to every Soul : 

Where ecstacy divine the bosom swells, 
And anthems of high praises ceaseless roll. 




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HEAVEN, OR THE LAND OF SOULS. 

There is a land where flowers perpetual bloom 
With dyes celestial as Eden's bowers ; 

Commingling with the air in rich perfume, 

Sweeter than that which fragrant India showers. 

There is a land, where heavenly music rings 
In anthems, symphonies and glorious strains, 

And through the air, with magic softness flings 
Her melody across the sapphire plains. 

There is a land, where ever-blooming youth 
Retains its charms, while endless ages roll : 

Unchanged in nature as eternal Truth, — 

All eye, all ear, all thought, all joy— the Soul. 

There is a land which darkness ne'er invades, — 
Where light, unchanging light, is ever given ; 

Where purest pleasure reigns, and joy pervades, 
And happy Spirits dwell, — that land is Heaven ! 




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THE DECLINE OF LIFE. 

As life declines and ebbs apace, 

Let me but have a country dwelling ; 

A little snug and homely place, 

Where Nature blooms with charms excelling. 

A cottage, thatched with straw or peat, — 
A woodbine o'er my window growing, — 

A sweet parterre, — and bowery seat 
With blushing roses ever blowing. 

And o'er my bedroom's eastern light, 
The jessamine and myrtle blooming ; 

While softest breezes, through the night 
Burden the air with rich perfuming. 




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THE DECLINE OF LIFE. 



Among my flowers, a hive of bees, 
To cull for me their yellow honey ; 

Around my house, umbrageous trees, — 
I should not " care a fig " for money ! 

Near, let me have some pleasant lawns, 
And woods in which to go a-roaming 

When noon declines or morning dawns, — 

With murmuring brooks and cascades foaming. 

Then, I would hear the nightingale, 
And all the feathered warblers singing ; 

While through the sweet meandering vale 
Their symphonies were ever ringing. 

I'd hail with joy the early dawn, 
Making my love of nature, — duty ; 

I'd watch the lamp of day, upborne 
With rosy beams of eastern beauty. 

I'd gaze upon the evening star, 

Her welcome glow and gentle rising, — 

The glorious host of heaven afar,— 

Each wond'rous light my soul surprising. 



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THE DECLINE OE LIFE. 

In winter, I would have my books 

By pleasant fire, with cinder glowing ; — 

Companions too, with cheerful looks, — 

Though howling winds outside were blowing. 

Thus I would spend the hours of life, 
Unconscious of my years' declining : 

Free from all care— and far from strife, — 
Sinking at last without repining. 

Then place me in my narrow cell, 

The silent ivy o'er me creeping : 
A humble stone my name to tell, 

With flowers around their watches keeping. 




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TO SLEEP. 

Sweet Sleep ! refresher of the wearied frame, 
Boon of that gracious Power enthroned above, 

Whose countless blessings mortals cannot name, — 
Exhaustless as His nature and His love. 

Man was not formed for one perpetual round 

Of labour, weariness and racking care, 
When first required to till fair Eden's ground, 

Imparadised in beauties rich and rare. 

He then enjoyed primeval innocence, 

'Mid shady trees where nectarine juices hung ;— 

Spending each day in blest obedience, 
Love swclPd his breast, and praises moved his tongue. 



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TO SLEEP, 



When glowing crimson tinged the western skies, 
Voluptuous the air, and tuned the soul, — 

In cooling shades, Sleep sealed the lovely eyes 
Of Eve, — and gently over Adam stole. 

Obedience moved the hands of the first pair : 

They pruned the trees and gathered mellow fruit, — 

Entwined the jessamine with flowerets rare, — 

Culled the sweet herb, and trained the tender shoot. 

They watched the lovely lily in the shade,— 
The deep-toned violet peeping from its bed, — 

The white rose with its snowy folds o'er -laid, 
Or brilliant damask, with its blushing head. 

Or hyacinth., in amaranthine bowers, 

Blooming in beauty amid gardens fair,— 

Or clustered festoons of the choicest flowers, 
Inwoving richly with Eve's flowing hair. 

Oh ! we may weep for ever, for those days, 

With peaceful joy, and richest plenty crowned, 

When our first parents through the garden strayed, — 
Nor grief to waste, nor discord's jarring sound ' 

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TO SLEEP. 



Where pain and weariness were never felt, — 
Nor sorrow came, to wet the loving eye, — 

Nor human woe, the gentle heart to melt, — 
Nor death, their untold pleasure to destroy. 

Where harmony was heard, 'mongst spicy trees 
Of richest tints, — as birds of glorious plume, 

Whose numbers died upon the gentle breeze, 
Mingled their music with the sweet perfume. 






Man slept not then to shut out anguish sore, 

But to dream over scenes of real joys ; 
While through Elysian fields, his fancy bore 

Onwards, to regions beneath golden skies. 

And when from Eden's bliss he took his way, (/ 

With solitary steps, in musing deep, W 

O'er the cursed earth,— though sorrow closed that day, 

He found a respite from his woes in sleep. y 

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Sweet sleep ! thou harbinger of lovely peace, — y 

Bestowing blest forgetfulness of care, — ^^ 

Giving to mortal sorrow, kind release, — fj 

What earthly good with thee can we compare ? ^ 

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TO SLEEP. 



When midnight darkness spreads her sable wing, 
Hov'ring above the mighty ocean's deep, 

And roaring tempests with hoarse music ring, 
The sailor is becalmed in quiet sleep. 

When thunder echoes o'er the forest waste, 

And vivid light'nings strike the fearful earth, — 

Dreaming, we seem delicious joys to taste, 

'Mid sylvan scenes that have in sleep their birth. 

The tattered beggar drest in filthy rags, 

Enshrined 'mong cobwebs in the homely barn, 

Dreams of rich stores beneath, in spacious bags, 
While plunged in healthy straw to keep him warm. 

After the cold of the bleak winter's day, 

Though haughty wealth has spurned him from the door, 
In pleasant dreams he sleeps his cares away, 

And thanks his stars because he is not poor. 

The haughty monarch, deck'd with royal crown, . 

On couch of softness, overhung with gold,- — 
In wild dreams sees the traitor's eye look down, 

While wand'ring fancies fearful scenes unfold. 



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TO SLEEP. 



Not so the man with healthy labour blest, 

Who trips the dewy meads and pleasant fields ; 

He sinks in calm tranquility to rest. 

As sleep, unconscious, her sweet influence yields. 

Breathing the balmy air of western gales, 

O'er glades enriched by nature's gen'rous hand, 

Through day, its mingled fragrance he inhales, — 
At night, he trips o'er slumber's fairy land. 

And what is Life ? at best a varied dream 

Of sad realities and fleeting sighs ; 
The wings of Time shift on each changing scene, 

And rouse us, as from sleep, in strange surprise. 

The solemn sleep of Death will quickly come, 
And every prospect bury in the grave ; 

We must all sleep within the silent tomb, — ■ 

That sleep, from which no earthly power can save. 

But who, in sad presentiment, need fear 
The mysteries of that night as yet unborn ? 

Death soon shall house us safe, — and dry each tear 
In balmy sleep, till Resurrection Morn ! 



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That sail upon the richly spangled sky, 



PLEASURES OF EVENING SOLITUDE. 

How sweet the time when evening shades prevail, 
As the sun moves along the western skies ; 

When glowing tints burn on the hill and dale, 
And distant murm'rings from the valley rise : 

Who would not then discard the haunts of men, 

And stroll in solitude the silent glen, 



Moving in golden masses, — 'ere night shrouds 

Earth's restless, bustling scenes, from human eye. 
Who would not then desire to walk alone, 
And pace the vernal mead with moss o'ergrown. 

When ev'ning gales are breathing o'er the flowers, 
Bearing rich fragrance on their balmy wing 

From woodbine, jessamine and rosy bowers, 

As from the shady groves their sweets they bring ;- 

In evening hours who would not then rejoice, 

And breathe the charming air of paradise ! 






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PLEASURES OF EVENING SOLITUDE. 



When in the solitude of silent night 

The king of songsters pours his mournful lays, 
Or, warbling through the dingle takes his flight, 

Or in wild carols 'mid the thicket plays, — 
Who would not wish to tread the pleasant vale, 
And hear the sweet song of the nightingale. 

When melt the western tints upon the eye, 

Commingling silently with twilight grey, — 

When change the gorgeous colours of the sky, 
At the last signal of departing day,— 

Who would not seek the silent evening shades, 

And taste the pensive bliss which then pervades. 



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As falling waters break from the cascade, 

And lull the ear with music's pleasant voice, — 

As distant objects on the vision fade, 

And village swains in merry mood rejoice, — 

Who would not then desire to wing afar, ^ 

And watch the rise of evening's beauteous star. 



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THE MOONLIGHT PARTING. 

Love I not thee ? Nay do not deem 
That my fond heart can love thee more : 

Love governs me with power supreme,— 
With very rapture I adore ! 

May yon pale moon a witness be, 

That none shall share my love with thee ! 

Let every star that beams with light, 
Bear witness to my solemn vows, 

And curse me with eternal night 
When I forsake thee, — and arouse 

The Furies from their sullen bed, 

To pour their vengeance on my head. 



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THE MOONLIGHT PARTING. 

Love I not thee ? Oh ! how the doubt 

Has grieved my soul and filled my eye : 
How hast thou wronged that love, which nought 

Can change, nor time itself destroy ! 
While this fond heart with motion beats, 
Each gushing pulse the theme repeats. L 

When age shall blight me with his frown, L 

And death's cold touch benumb my powers, k 

Thy love shall smooth my couch, as down, L 

And ease my pain in those dread hours ; — U 

Thy love shall claim my latest breath, L 

And sooth me in the hour of death ! ML 



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TO THE GREAT AND ETERNAL 
SOURCE OF LIGHT. 

How wond'rous the action of sight, 

Showing scenes that for ever are new,— 

How precious, how lovely is Light, — 

How sweet the creation to view ! 

In the splendour of night, or the glory of day, 

In the rich tints of autumn, or summer's mild ray ! 

Each star as it twinkles above, 

Is a glorious sun in its sphere ; 
There Jehovah discovers his love, — 

There His wisdom and goodness appear : 
Existences numberless, countless in form, — 
Bird, insect and beast, — noble man — and the worm ! 



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TO THE GREAT AND ETERNAL SOURCE OF LIGHT. 

Say what is the Light Thou hast made, 

Shooting onward as rapid as thought, — 

By which both form, colour and shade, 
In magical union are brought ? 

'Tis the marvellous mirror that ever displays 

The millions of worlds that rejoice in Thy praise ! 

The deep-tinted blue of the sky, 

Or bright burnished gold of the cloud, — 
The span of the rainbow on high, — 

All publish Thy glories aloud ! 
Thou God of the ocean, the lightening and thunder, 
Thv creatures adore thee in rev'rence and wonder ! 




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EARLY RISING IN SPRING. 

Rise betimes, if ere you will 
Nature's endless beauties see ; 

Water tuning every rill, 

Music breathing from each tree. 

Sparkling dewdrops in the Spring 
Glistening on the woodland sweep,- 

And the birds, with rapid wing 
Skimming o'er the glassy deep. 

Music swells upon the gale, 

While each rustling bush resounds,- 
Bearing sweetly through the vale, 

Flowing notes and melting sounds. 



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See the lambkins skip and play 
Harmlessly, in joyous love ; 

Soaring in the morning ray, 
See the silvery turtle dove ; 



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EARLY RISING IN SPRING. 

Sluggards, on your drowsy beds, 
Up ! from indolence arise ; 

Lift for once your heavy heads, — 
Nature see with open eyes. 



See yon sunbeam in the east, 
. Painting skies of rosy gold ; 
Where the eye may richly feast 
As the gorgeous scenes unfold. 

Birds are pairing in the dells, 

Music bursts from brake and bush : 

Hark ! the gentle breezes swell, 
With the love-note of the thrush. 

Linnet sweet, and soaring lark, 
Trill their simple, artless strains, 

In the woodland and the park, 

Through the vales and o'er the plains. 



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EARLY RISING IN SPRING. 

Now the cawing rook awakes ; 

Leaves his lofty hous*e above, 
Clasps his sable wings, and takes 

Noisy rounds through field and grove 

Mingled fragrance scents the air, 
Borne upon the gentle gale ; 

Zephyrs 5 wings the treasures bear 
Through the windings of the vale. 

0, ye slaves to sensual joy, 

Come and taste elysian pleasure, — 
Bliss, without the least alloy, — 

Nature's sweet and artless treasure. 

Frisking fish, beneath the wave, 

Sport themselves in glassy stream,— 

Lulling waters gently lave, 

Charming like a Summer's dream : 

How they murmur on the ear, 
As they silent steal along ; — 

How the drooping spirits cheer 
Listening to their pensive song. 



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EARLY RISING IN SPRING. 

Precious are these charms to life, — 
Pleasure, pure as heavenly bliss ! 

Unalloy'd by angry strife, 

Sweet and chaste as virgin kiss ! 

Never, never let me rove, 

From pure Nature's happy scenes, — ■ 
From the valley and the grove, 

Towering rocks and gushing streams. 

While the sun-glass drops its grains, 
Let me pass life's fleeting hours 

Wrapt in sentimental strains, 

'Neath the sunshine and the showers ; 

Till yon sun shall rise no more 
To refresh with morning light ; — 

Till the birds' last strain shall ponr 
In the shades of coming night ; 

Till my eyelids close in death, — 

And my spirit, far away 
Borne aloft with flutt'ring breath, 

Mingles in eternal day. 



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FOSSIL WORLDS, 

OR THE PRIMITIVE ORGANIZATION 

OF OUR PLANET. 

Canto. I. 

So there are fossil worlds beneath our feet : 

How strange the story ! not less strange than true :— 



Spread in thick layers, like one amazing sheet 

Of worlds extinct, — and other worlds that grew 
Out of the old ones, — those in turn destroyed, 
And not a living thing spared to supply the void. 

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•• Of this old world, first had the boon of life : 

HB Testacia, fish — and animals that must 

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Have lived awhile, with which earth then was rife : 
And these, by some strange law,- — some stern decree, 
Were likewise all consumed, all ceased to be ! 

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^OSSIL WORLDS. 



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Once more, Creation's mighty energy 

Peopled the mud, the waters and the land ; 

Amid the caverns of the sounding sea, 

Millions of creatures, formed by God's command 

More perfect still, were made to crawl or swim, — 

But these all passed away like vision dim : 



For the decree of a resistless doom 

Sent dire destruction on this second world 

All that existed, shrouded in deep gloom, 
Were into ruin and destruction hurled. 

Destruction universal ! nought could flee — 

Such was the Sovereign will of Deity. 



World after world of animated life,— 

Of beings strange, of creatures now extinct — - 

Peopled the waters, — everywhere were rife, 
Reptile and fish, in a connected link, 

With no resemblance to those that live,— 

Such strange vitality did Nature give. 



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FOSSIL WORLDS. 



And their, once more, in a promiscuous heap, 
Wreck upon wreck, all were again destroyed, 

Of those which crawled the land, or swam the deep, 
Or revelled in the ocean's upper tide : 

Above — below — around — one chaos vast,— 

The earth with desolation was overcast ! 



Then, dire catastrophe! the sullen waves 
Swept devastation o'er the ruined earth ; 

Millions of creatures hurried to their graves 

'Mid whirling waters, where the seas have birth. 

Each tide broke up the fountains of the deep, — 

While cloud-capt hills and lowly valleys weep. 



Nature was silent, — Death had conquered all : 

Nought had escaped that swam, or moved, or breathed : 

Silence supreme ! save from the water-fall, 
Where the retiring waves in madness seethed, 

'Ere settling into quiet and repose, — 

Howled a sad requiem over ocean's woes ! 



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FOSSIL WORLDS. 



Again, Creative power once more awoke : 

Mingled with wisdom and with matchless skill, 

His slumbering energy arose, — and spoke 
To life throughout the valley, wood and hill. 

Thousands of creatures on the verdant earth, 

Called by His sovereign word, then had their birth. 



The lion roared, — the fierce hyaena growled,— 
The stag fled nimbly o'er the plain, — the hare 

Out-stripped the wind, — the wolf-dog bay'd and howled,- 
The horse tript o'er the grass, — the grisly bear 

Played his strange pranks, — the ponderous elephant 

"With heavy tread the prairie grasses bent. 



Through the elastic air, gay insects flew, — 
And birds, — the pheasant, and the eagle bold, 

The thrush, the linnet, and the ring-dove true, 
The nightingale her plaintive carols told ; 

The humming-bird in plumage richly drest — 

And warbling songsters built the cunning nest. 



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FOSSIL WORLDS. 



Then, through the ocean's caverns deep and wide, 
Myriads of finny tribes, with silvery scale, 

Clave the bright water,--in the foaming tide 
The shark voracious and the ponderous whale, 

Colossal giants in their new domain, 

As ocean's monarchs claimed their right to reign. 



The noble elephant, humane and sage, 
Prudent and modest, docile and yet bold, 

As fearless he, as free from hate and rage, 

Through valleys of rich herbage quiet strolled. 

Roamed o'er the pastures with his loving mate, 

And ate the fragrant herbs with joy elate. 



More wond'rous still, on wild Siberia's plains, 
Which then were temperate, and fruitful too, 

A creature huge existed, whose remains 

Beneath the earth are found, nor small nor few 

This monster cropt the prairies where it went, 

Strangely combining hog and elephant ! 



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And then the stag-elk, with her horns wide spread, 
And wond'rous fleetness, — like a shooting star 

Or glance of lightening, o'er the champaign fled, 
Distance defied— now near, and now afar : 

Then through the woods he broke in breathless haste, 

By the young lion or the tiger chased. 



The active mind may plume her palmy wing, 
And ponder on creations now no more : 

Of worlds destroyed, the solemn requiem sing, — 
Earth's deepest strata fearlessly explore ; — 

Search out the mysteries of nature's laws, 

And trace their union with the first Great Cause. 



One fact we learn, — a truth none can deny, — 
Man had no being then, — he did not live. 

His race is subsequent : the reason why, 
Let none enquire, — God saw not fit to give 

Earlier existence to man's form, nor grace 

His first creations with the human race. 






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FOSSIL WORLDS. 



Science the fact declares, — and we may trace 

Through Fossil Worlds beneath our feet, once drowned, 

Whole families of beings, of each race, 

Yet man, Heaven's highest work, is nowhere found ! 

Man is of modern date, it then appears, — - 

God's noblest work, reserved for later years. 




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Canto II. 

Yon golden sun was beauteous, young and gay, — 
Smiled on the valley, hill and vast champaign ; 

Gleamed on the flowers, and gilt the ocean's spray ; 
Glowed when he rose, careered above, and then 

To rest he sank in ocean's burning deep, 

While evening dews wept over Nature's sleep. 

Then through the vast immensity of space, 
A stranger comet hastened towards our sun : 

Long had he travelled on his fiery race, — 
Through pathless tracks of ether he had run, 

Gathering lost star-beams as they shot or fell, 

His burning train like to a flaming hell. 



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FOSSIL WORLDS. 



He near approached our Earth in annual course, 
Drawing the ocean from her restless bed,— 

And gravitation, with resistless force, 
Fierce desolation o'er all Nature spread. 

The large creatures struggled with the tide, — 

The smaller, swam awhile, then sunk and died. 

The tiger in dismay, lurked from his hole, 

Crept through the brambles and the tangled bush ) 

Tried every haunt for safety, and then stole 
To where he first had left, — the waters' rush 

Swept him away 'spite of his horrid growls, — 

He struggled long, then sank with languid howls. 

The frighted lion, frantic, roared aloud, 

Lashed with his tail, and gained the mountain height, 
Where 'mid the light'ning's flash, and bursting cloud, 

He trembled like a lamb, then cowered, and straight 
Fled to his haunted den that he might hide, — 
He battled with the raging waves, — and died. 



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The dexterous bear, mounted the highest tree, 
Clung wildly to it, — watched the raging tide, — 

As swept the roaring billows from the sea, 

He held him fast, — the waters wasting wide, — 

He gazed with terror on their fearful sweep, 

Then sunk within the ocean's yawning deep. 

Then the mighty mastedon clung to the oak, — 
The oak of centuries, — and faced the waves : 

Back, with his haunches, he for some time broke 
The foaming billows, which he fiercely braves, — 

Till weakened long, he felt his strength decay, 

And like an avalanche he rolled away. 

A frightful desolation levelled all : 

Rocks, hills and valleys were no refuge then : 
Terror pervaded this terrestrial ball, 

And Nature died within, — o'er field and glen 
The swift-heeled courser, or the swifter deer, 
And patient lamb, were terror-struck with fear, 



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FOSSIL WORLDS. 



Hoarse cataracts rushed upward from the depth, 

And bellowing loud, frowned angrily towards heaven, 

Then rolling back with headlong fury, swept 
Down through the vast abyss, in terror driven : 

All was dismay — amazement — -fury — dread, — 

Nature dissolved, and chaos was wide-spread. 

One hurricane terrific swept the waves, — ■ 

Tornadoes thundered o'er the bellowing deep, — 

Dire earthquakes opened up a thousand graves, — 
Waters rushed down each cavern, and a sweep 

Of warring elements with fury sped, 

To desolate the earth, and heave old ocean's bed. 

This orb was clothed in sackcloth then, — and dark ; 

Nor sun, nor moon, nor stars appeared around : 
Creation mourned, and not a single spark 

Twinkled upon the waters' vast profound. 
Stillness prevailed, for life had ceased to be, 
Throughout the vast dominion of the sea. 











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FOSSIL WORLDS. 



O, God ! who may withstand Thy mighty power ! 

What can overcome Thy fixed, resistless laws ! 
If thou should' st frown, we perish as a flower,— 

Thy energy withdrawn, Thou first Great Cause, 
Then wide-spread ruin o'er creation flies, 
Nature dissolves, and every creature dies ! 




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Canto III. 



Gently the ebbing waters now retired 

To ocean's deepest beds, and sought repose : 

Nature at rest, as with past efforts tired, — 
The trees appeared, the continent uprose, 

And ocean peaceful heaved its gentle waves, 

Covering a world within her million graves. 

And then once more, the mighty power of God 
Burst from its slumbering energy, and rose ; 

His voice gave life, and with commanding nod 

Said, ' ' Let there be each fruitful tree that grows 

Prolific seed and herbage, flower and grain, 

And let the earth be happy once again." 



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FOSSIL WORLDS. 



IS 

A new creation straight arose to view, 

Of vegetative verdure, herb and tree ; 
Each race of flowery life was fair and new, — 

All looked as lovely as could lovely be ; 
And happiness once more commenced her reign, 
Through every part of earth's immense domain. 



The quiet ocean heaved, as if alive ; — 

As power creative moved upon the deep, 

Millions of creatures, formed to swim, or dive, 

Or crawl, were stirring as though woke from sleep 

While monsters huge crept forth from craggy caves, 

Revivified in former monsters' graves. 

The mighty ocean teemed with moving life, — 

Again the silvery fish shot through the wave ; 

Still lake and river, pool and rill, were rife 

With the swift denizens that nature gave ; 

And over earth, as if in frolic mood, 

Each creature cheerful frisked and sought its food. 



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And lastly Man, the noblest work of Heaven, 
Received the boon of life : — he stood erect, 

Gazing above, — around, but who had given 

The wond'rous power he felt, — and who had decked 

Creation with the thousand charms displayed, 

He knew not, nor the Hand that all things made. 



He saw the sun shine bright in majesty, 

And Nature smile around with cheerful face ;- 

The azure sky, the gilded cloud, — and he 

High above all could love and beauty trace •- 

The zephyr bore rich fragrance from each flower 

That clustered round alcove or shady bower. 



The sun descended in the western sky, 

And seemed a burning globe of liquid fire ; 

Ranged round in gorgeous grandeur, soaring high, 
Masses of glowing clouds in rich attire, 

Seemed like the bearers of his glorious train, — 

Bright monarch of the firmament and main ! 



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Then evening drew a veil of sombre hue, 

Gently concealing the sweet face of day ; 

Overshadowed Nature smiled, — and all that grew,- 
The fragrant blossoms, and the flowerets gay, 

Their eyelids closed — the birds retired to rest, 

And Man for the first time, with sleep was blest. 



He sank in slumber, and delightful dreams 
Imaging pleasure, past before his eyes ; 

Mountains and valleys, woods and purling streams, 
Clear bubbling fountains, and cerulean skies. 

Rich songsters warbled over hill or dale, 

Sweeter than the melodious Nightingale. 

Recumbent on a couch of flowers he lay, 
Amidst a bed of roses, damask red, 

While softly murmuring breezes gently play, 
Fanning the fragrant air around his bed ; 

All seemed a paradise of matchless joy, 

Where passive pleasure reigned without alloy, — 



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When, at that moment, to his strange surprise 
A lovely creature stept within his bower ; 

Graceful she moved, and struck his wondering eyes 

With beauty more than mortal ; — matchless power 

All sweetness exquisite, and charming grace, 

While charming smiles lit up her beauteous face. 



Her eye was full of fire, — but chastened sure 

With modest blushes, — still, she seem'd so sweet, 

Her step so gentle and her soul so pure ; — 
Upon her shoulders graceful tresses meet 

Of golden hair ;— a perfect Goddess she — 

Filling his soul with untold ecstacy ! 



Her eye glanced coyly, when on couch of flowers 
She saw a being formed so like herself ; 

Electric love stole through her vital powers,—- 

She looked— she hung her head — and then by stealth 

She looked again,- — and with the sweetest grace, 

A crimson blush suffused her virgin face. 



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There was a tenderness in every look, — 

So chastely modest and so sweet she seemed 

Her very glance, of dignity partook, — 

Entrancing love in every feature beamed, — 

While glowing rapture, mingled with desire, 

Shot from her luscious eye a glance of fire. 



Like to the lily and the rose in bloom 

Upon one stem, one soul uniting both, 

Whose fragrant flowers breathe forth a rich perfume y 
Or Venus and Adonis, they were loath 

Their clasped arms to part, — the ardent kiss 

Seemed but to measure half their matchless bliss. 






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Canto IV. 

When Phoebus from the slumb'ring east arose, 

And bathed his burning beard in ocean's wave, 

The busy tribes awaking from repose, 

His fiery car its bright effulgence gave : 

Uprising like a flood of liquid gold, 

On wheels of sunbeams bright his chariot rolled. 

Then the blest human pair first woke from sleep, 

Morn, to their eyes displayed a thousand charms; 

Fair paradise around — their bosoms leap. 

For joy, — delight each happy spirit warms,— 

Sounds, as of music, melt upon the ear, 

With songs of birds, and streamlets murmuring near. 



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k Then how superbly glorious all seemed 

To the first pair who gazed with strange surprise : 



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Creation they admired, and beauty beamed 

From the bright flowers which glowed with richest dyes 
Nature was young and they were youthful too, 
And love diffused her charms each bosom through. 

In perfect peace they dwelt, — nought to disturb 
Their tranquil — -happy — ardent — matchless bliss ! 

No tyrant foe to fetter or to curb,— 

Pleasure abounded, — and the rapturous kiss 

Was but the pledge that outwardly revealed 

The inward heaven that could not be concealed. 



The glorious sun rejoiced in laughing glee, 
And shed his golden rays on the young earth,- 

Dispersing blessings over land and sea, 
To animated millions giving birth, — 

All harmonized in one delightful chime 

As nature bloomed in her luxuriant prime. 



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'Twas in the East where this enraptured pair 

First saw the sun, — -the stars — the clear blue sky 

The silvery cloud,— where they first breathed the air 
More balmy than fair India's groves, where nigh 

Light zephyrs waft the fragrance of the flowers, 

O'er orange groves and smiling myrtle bowers. 



The garden where the first of human-kind 

Received the boon of life, was fraught with good 

There health and pleasure dwelt, and both combined 
To make each happy, — in the garden stood 

Rich nect'rine fruit, scenting the burdened air, 

Fruit, rich and varied, exquisite and rare ! 



There is no bliss without alloy, below, — 
Mortality is but a state of change ! 

Powers uncontrolled deal out the fatal blow, 

And all man's schemes of happiness derange. 

Time's revolutions work amazing things, — 

Hiding man's destiny with both his wings. 



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Man soon became corrupt — degenerate — base,— 
Vile in his actions— profligate and prond : 

O'er the fair earth there spread a ruined race 
Of slaves and robbers, and oppression lond 

Rose from a thousand hearts, in broken sighs 

And heavy groans, that pierced the very skies ! 

Alas for man ! in this his fallen state 

Of Nature's deep degeneracy and sin ; 

For disobedience punished, cruel Fate 

The fiery passions to his soul lets in,- 

While anger, malice, pride and every crime, 

With hatred, fraud and villany combine! 



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The lust of power, ambition, low desire, 

The insolence of wealth, and tyranny, — 

Rapine, — and war, the madman's deadly ire, 

And all the grades of hellish slavery, — § 

Chains for the noble, — fetters for the free, — 

Were unknown in human infancv ! 



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At length mankind spread o'er the western world, 
O'er continent and island far and near ; 

Large cities built, and warlike ruin hurled 

Against the species, — deadly hate and fear 

Rent the corrupted race, while wrong prevailed, 

And earth through all her borders loudly wailed ! 



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Canto V. 

Now, Truth and Science with benignant sway, 
Chase superstition from her dark abode, — 

Open to wandering man a brighter way 

To virtuous happiness — to heaven— to God ! 

Justice her law proclaims, and nobly gives 

Repose and liberty to all that lives. 



She points with finger of resistless power 

To the great rights of men ; — who shall oppose 

The dawning light of Liberty's sweet hour ? 
Resistless, she shall conquer all her foes ; 

Earth then, in all her homes, shall happy be, 

When black and white are both together free ! 



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Cxod then, well pleased, will smile on all that lives,— 
Earth too will teem with plenty for her sons, 

And man will not deny what Nature gives 

To fellow- man,-— while heav'nly Science runs 

Throughout the earth, pervading every breast, 

Followed by freedom, happiness and rest ! 

Thus, man at last will have acquired each right, 
Raised from the ruins of his fallen state : 

Warfare shall cease : oppression shall not blight 
His glorious prospects, — but with joy elate 

Truth shall her radiance throw o'er Nature's gloom, 

And smooth his passage to the silent tomb ! 




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ODE TO WOMAN, 

Woman ! the kindliest and dearest theme 

That ever moved man's soul or warmed his heart, - 

Maintaining a sweet influence supreme, 
From which he cannot tear himself apart. 

Woman ! thou loveliest creature God has made 
Throughout this universe of beauty bright, — 

Compared with thee, all minor glories fade, 
And earthly charms sink into utter night. 



I love the crystal sky — the twinkling star— 
The silver cloud — -the incense-breath of heaven, - 

The morning sunbeams darting from afar, 
In dazzling glory o'er creation driven ; — 



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ODE TO WOMAN. 

I love the vernal spring with dappled flowers, — 

Fair streams meandering through the meadows green, - 

I love to sit in academic bowers, 

And watch the movements of earth's varied scene ;— 

I love to hear the music of the birds, 

Melting in peaceful numbers on the ear,— 

The gentle lowing of the distant herds, 
As the last rays of evening disappear :— 

But I love Woman more than all these things. 
More than each sound that can the ear rejoice ;— 

What thrilling ecstacy her presence brings ! 
What thrilling accents tune her heavenly voice ! 

O, Woman ! best and dearest good to me, 
My heart shall ever throb with ardent love ; 

Each beating pulse shall draw my soul to thee, 
With fondness, pure as seraphs feel above ! 

Thou art the polisher of human breasts, 

The bright'ner of the intellectual gem ; 
Heaven's hallowed incense in thy bosom rests, 

And pours its fragrance on the hearts of men. 



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Woman ! thy helplessness demands our care, j^h 

For man was made in beauty masculine ; S» 

The heaviest burden was formed to bear, Sh" - 
Why should he then to thee the task resign ? 

Could he but feel that tenderness of soul 

That marks thy every look and every word,— 
That melts so gently in its sweet control, 

It governs wheresoe'er its voice is heard : — 

Sure there were none beneath the crystal sky 

Knowing the depth of a pure woman's love, 
But must the fairy form of beauty eye 

With a regard, all earthly things above. 

That face, which none but fiends in hell could hate, 
Which none but fiends could injure or annoy, — 

The songster of the grove will love his mate, — 
And how can man earth's fairest form destroy ? 

What were the world, but a wide waste of woe,— 
If thou wert but withdrawn from man's embrace, 

A heartless savage he would surely grow — 
Thv absence would his verv soul debase ! 



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Woman, thou loveliest creature God has made 
Throughout this universe of beauty bright, — 

Compared with thee, all minor beauties fade, 
And earthly charms sink into utter night ! 






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